The Goddess Denied (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 2)

by Deborah Davitt

  Zaya missed a step as the tree suddenly unfurled leaves, and blossoms began to grow. She stopped where she was, and then excused herself to hurry towards her friend. She’d seen him do this same trick with individual flowers before, but never a whole tree. And she tried to disregard the nagging voice of jealousy at the back of her head that said he always tries to look and act human at school, but he did that for her . . . shut up, shut up, shut up . . . . Almost no one else had noticed. No one else really ever looked at the plants, besides the dryads, Zaya had observed, over time. And there was a bit of what her mother referred to as ‘normalcy creep,’ at play, as well. People get used to the unusual, and in time, it simply becomes the new normal, Erida had told her. Thirty years ago, there were no jotun anywhere. Today, they are the forces of law and order. Thus, the other students didn’t always notice when Maccis did something unusual, because most of his siblings stood out so much more, and he never shifted forms at school. Just on the walk home, or around the neighborhood.

  Zaya closed in behind them, as Crysanthe leaned in and smiled up at Maccis. “Oh, thank you. It was really bothering me, seeing it so unhappy and unhealthy.”

  “You’re welcome. Almost any one of my siblings could have done that. Somewhat surprised that Eisa didn’t already fix it.” Maccis sounded friendly, but pre-occupied.

  “So . . . you make plants feel better, basically?”

  “I can’t explain it, really. My sister’s a biochemist, and she says that we supplement the energy it’s already receiving from the sun with . . . our own, I suppose.”

  Crysanthe grinned up at him. “Could you do that to me?”

  “I . . . what?”

  Zaya, ten feet away, stood rooted in shock.

  “I said, could you do that to me?” Crysanthe lowered her eyelashes a little. “Say, maybe, this weekend? My sisters will be out of town, and I’ll have the apartment to myself. I’d like to see if you could make me bloom, Maccis. Maybe I could help you do the same.”

  A darker green flush along her cheeks said that Crysanthe wasn’t much used to being so forward . . . but Zaya didn’t care. She advanced in and slipped an arm around Maccis’ waist, edging her way under his arm, feeling him jump in surprise. “Maccis,” Zaya said, looking up at him, her heart beating as she very quietly prayed to any god that was alive and listening that he wouldn’t recoil away from her, “I thought you were supposed to be watching me dance.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he spend his lunch hour watching a bunch of girls dance, when he could be spending time talking with his friends?

  “I was?” Maccis blinked. “Oh. Right. I was. Thank you for the reminder, Zaya.” He left his arm exactly where it was on her shoulder, not moving an iota in any direction, until she pushed a little at his back, and they turned and walked away from Crysanthe, who looked . . . mortified, actually. “Ah . . . thank you for the rescue,” he said, tactfully, once they were about thirty feet away, and heading back towards the impromptu dance space. “I mean, you didn’t have to. And I know it’s just going to make all the teasing worse for you, especially after . . . .” he winced, “this morning.” A pause. “I’m going to have a word or two with Spiro after school.” His voice had dropped to a growl again.

  Zaya writhed inwardly in embarrassment. But on the other hand, he hadn’t stopped touching her, and that felt . . . glorious. Warm skin, warm hand, draped around her shoulders. He’d curl up right on her feet in wolf-form, he’d sprawl next to her on a hammock in wolf-form, but in human form, he wouldn’t touch her. On the other hand . . . . “You don’t have to talk to Spiro,” she told him. Touch made her a little bolder than usual. “I don’t mind if people think . . . I mean, I wouldn’t mind . . . I . . . damn it.”

  Her cheeks burned, but he’d already moved on, his mind intent on the subject of his anger. “No, he doesn’t get to talk that way to you, or about you or . . .” Maccis rocked to a halt and looked down at her, his brain apparently catching up with the rest of the conversation. “I . . . you what?”

  Zaya swallowed, hard. “I said I don’t care what people think we do or don’t do, and I wouldn’t mind if we were, actually . . . you know.”

  Maccis took approximately two seconds to absorb that, and then leaned down, turning her towards him, and cupped her face in tentative fingers. Watched her face a little apprehensively as he leaned in, as if waiting for permission . . . and then kissed her. Sweetly. Gently. And so everyone in the damned school could see it, too. Pulled back just enough to verify her expression, and she was staggered by how nervous he looked, and then kissed her again, this time with a good deal more passion behind it, his fingers tightening in her hair, and Zaya’s eyes closed. Oh . . . gods. This is what I’ve been wanting for so damned long.

  A whistle blew from some overhead balcony, and Maccis’ shoulders sagged. “And there’s my detention,” he said, pulling back. “Worth it, though.”

  She told the family chauffeur to go ahead and take her brothers and sisters home that afternoon, and stood outside Maccis’ detention room where the incarcerated miscreants normally waited out their time after school. She’d never actually had to find the room before, and she thought it was rather stupid that he had gotten punished for kissing her, when she’d been kissing him back. Double-standards existed under every law, apparently.

  She also hadn’t expected that Maccis and Spiro would be in the same room, serving out detention for unrelated crimes. She discovered this as Spiro exited the room first, and caught sight of her. He immediately bristled, and snapped at her, “Here to gloat, princess?”

  “. . . maybe when they throw you in a gladiatorial ring, I’ll root for the professional assigned to beat you,” Zaya said, lifting her chin, surprised at how fast the words actually popped into her mind. “Till then, you’re not worth it.”

  The harpy hissed at her, and as his taloned hands came up, Zaya keyed one of the rings she wore to school on a daily basis, one designed to put a shield of force around her body if anyone ever attacked her. And then a hand came down on Spiro’s shoulder from behind as Maccis emerged from the classroom behind him. Spiro snarled and threw out his wings, slapping Maccis in the face with one, hard, but Maccis ignored it, worked Spiro’s arm behind him, and slammed him, face-first, into the opposing wall, just beside Zaya, who recoiled in surprise. “Listen to me, Spiro,” Maccis said. His tone was surprisingly even, and Zaya blinked. “I talked with my mother about you. She remembers you.”

  “I don’t know your mother, and I don’t give a shit—”

  “Yes. You do. Your parents both stayed human, didn’t they, six years ago, when you were ten or so? And so did your little sister. They kept you indoors, out of sight, because they were ashamed of you. And then, the mad gods came, and they tried to evacuate, and you went insane in the backseat of the automobile—”

  “Stop,” Spiro whispered, his face white.

  “—and you reached forward with those talons and you slashed at your father’s throat while he was driving, and the motorcar slid down an embankment. You scrambled out of the car, but you were mad, and you didn’t know what you were doing. You left them there, your father dying and your mother unconscious, and then a flock of other harpies took you in, and they expected you to look after the eggs, and steal from the abandoned markets and warehouses, and sometimes the females brought home meat, and you never asked where it came from, because it was food.”

  “Stop! How do you know this—”

  “Because my mother is Saraid, Spiro. She’s the one who found you hiding in the chimney of an abandoned shrine of Artemis, with a broken leg. Hiding, because the rest of the flock decided that you were meat since you were weak. She healed the leg. Healed your mind. And put most of the memories out of your head.” Maccis’ voice held a trace of compassion. “I don’t have that experience, Spiro. Neither does Zaya. I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But you’ve got to make a choice, here and now, if you want to let the monster control you for the rest of your life, or if you want
to be human. In simpler terms? Stop being a shit before I stop you.” Maccis paused. “Because I will.”

  He released the other boy, and looked up at the teachers and other students still in the doorway of the detention room. “I take it I’m to report back here tomorrow?” Maccis said, in a tone of resignation. “Also, that you’ll be talking to my parents?” Maccis, like many other students, was in a difficult gray area. He was an adult under Pictish law. Officially an adult by Imperial standards at sixteen, but still in school.

  “There will be a conversation between your parents and the school administrators, yes,” the teacher said, shaking his head. “For the moment, though . . . go away.”

  Zaya, wide-eyed, hurried after him off school grounds. At the corner where he usually stopped and turned into a wolf, she slipped a hand into Maccis’, and looked up, seeing the slightly incredulous smile cross his face. “You’re . . . you’re not going to go wolf on me today, are you?”

  “. . . depends. Are you going to be practicing your dance stuff in front of me this afternoon?”

  Zaya blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Maccis lifted her hand in his, and stooped a little to kiss the back of it. “When I’m a wolf, I don’t have the urge to do this.” He turned her hand over, and kissed the palm, still looking at her warily. “Or this.”

  Her vision defocused a little, and her breath caught as he bit the inner wrist, and then kissed it, in turn. “Or that?” Her voice wavered.

  “Or a lot of other things. Wolf form makes it so . . . I don’t have the urge to touch your hair or your hand. So that if you want to be touched . . . it’s up to you. Wolf form . . . is nice and simple that way . . . .” Brush of his fingers up along her arms, and then he was nuzzling her neck again. “Gods, you smell so good, Zaya. Can’t quite believe . . . you’re letting me do this . . . .” A little bite to her neck, followed by a light kiss. Sunshine overhead, beating down on them, warmth all the way to the tips of her toes. “Maybe the street corner isn’t the best place for this.” He caught her hand, and urged her down the sidewalk, turning off into a public park, where they found a tree to sit under, in the shade. Children playing in the distance, under the watchful eyes of their mothers, and sunlight, everywhere.

  “I’ve been trying to show you that I liked you for ages,” Zaya told him, feeling giddy, as she tossed her book bag down. “What took you so long to notice?”

  “I didn’t get that.” He sounded helplessly confused. “I thought you liked my whole family, and that I was a friend.” He shrugged. “You spend as much time with Eisa as you do with me.”

  “You always bring Eisa over!”

  “I . . . well, yes. I guess I do.” He sounded embarrassed, and Zaya suddenly understood. He’d dragged one or more of his sisters along with him, all this time, so that everything stayed safe. Status quo. So she wouldn’t feel pressured, and so that, if she rejected him, he could say he’d been there solely as a companion to his sister. “I guess I can’t play it safe forever.”

  “My father says playing it safe is the fastest way to lose.” Zaya looked up at him, and realized that her face nearly ached from smiling. That she hadn’t stopped in the past twenty minutes. “You are my friend, and I really, really like you, Maccis.”

  A startled gasp broke from her as he pulled her closer to him in the soft grass, and found another section of throat to kiss. “I thought you were mad at me, this morning,” she managed, after another minute or so.

  Maccis froze, and Zaya blinked rapidly, as he moved away from her. “No!” she hissed, as his body shimmered for a moment. “No wolf-form. Not right now. Maccis, we were doing really well. What’s the matter?”

  He edged away a little. If he’d been in wolf-form, she was absolutely certain that his ears would have been down, and his tail between his legs. “I’m sorry, Zaya. I didn’t mean to give you that idea. I just . . . .” Maccis exhaled, and rolled to his back, staring up at the sky through the branches of the tree. “Aunt Sig brought her sister Sophia home last night.”

  The words limped out of him, and Zaya stared at him. “That doesn’t sound so bad . . . .”

  “She was a ball of blood and pain, and I could smell the pain. I could smell the blood. I could smell . . . everything.” Maccis closed his eyes. “Aunt Lassair started healing her, but I could smell how many people had hurt her. Mix of . . . human and horse smells.” Every muscle in his body had gone rigid.

  “. . . she was attacked by centaurs?” Zaya’s voice was small. “She’s a Pythia, right, so these were . . . mad ones? Ones still in Hellas?” She faltered. “Did they beat her very badly?”

  Maccis didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t look at her. “They broke her jaw and kicked in her teeth, but, they . . .” He sighed. “They raped her, Zee. Five of them, from what I could smell.”

  Zaya’s stomach churned, and she went completely still. It happened in war. It happened in dark alleys. It happened, apparently, in suburban bedrooms. But to her knowledge, it hadn’t happened to anyone she knew. But if it had, would they have told me . . . ? “I’m . . . so sorry.”

  “Aunt Lassair said she’d never seen worse. Even the things her . . . old summoner, the one my da killed . . . used to do to her . . . .” He shook his head, eyes still closed, and Zaya’s mouth opened and closed again as she rapidly reassessed how sheltered her world was. “And Sophia’s . . . just as god-born as Aunt Sig. But I guess she couldn’t fight them off. Different kind of strength.” He exhaled. “I was still so angry from having seen that this morning, and then Spiro sent that gods-be-damned woodcut around the room . . . .” He opened his eyes, and just for an instant, there was nothing human behind the blue. “I could picture killing him so clearly. I knew exactly what it would feel like when I ripped out his throat. Saying that I’d do that to you . . . .”

  He twitched as Zaya curled up next to him, and, cautiously, stroked a finger down his face. “You know, I know how to pet your ears in wolf-form, so that you relax,” she told him, after a moment. “I don’t even know where to start with human-form. I don’t think Spiro understood . . .” She sighed. “Well, he probably understood what he was saying. But he probably meant it in a ‘funny’ way. Except there’s nothing funny about it.” Her voice was low, and she worked her way down one of his arms with a fingertip, tracing the family markings there. Bear and wolf, and leaves twined around them.

  “Not going to spend any more time worrying about him,” Maccis told her, firmly. “I told my mother that he was being an issue, and she said she’d visit his foster parents when she was able to get back to Judea, and in the meantime, told me enough about him to handle him for her for the moment. Same thing she does when I help in the refugee areas. Gives me a little information on someone and lets me try to sort them out. Vorvena has to do the same thing.” Maccis rolled up to one elbow, and leaned down to kiss her again, very gently. “Zaya . . . may I ask you something very important?”

  Zaya’s eyes widened. “Yes . . . ?”

  “I know it’s not till Iunius, and that’s forever away . . . but would you come with me to the solstice fires this year?” He looked very hopeful.

  “I go with your family every year—”

  “Not with my family. With me.”

  “You could have asked three weeks ago at the equinox—” Zaya couldn’t help but tease a little.

  “Three weeks ago I didn’t know you wouldn’t mind me doing this!” Maccis kissed her again. “Please?”

  “Of course I will.” Zaya blinked, startled, as he sat up and pulled her to her feet. “We’re leaving?”

  “I have to get you to a bus stop.”

  Zaya frowned. “Why?” She felt peculiarly rejected.

  “Because you’re already late for your work at the Magi library this afternoon, and I will not get you in trouble with your parents if I can help it.” Maccis was already tugging, gently at her hand, pulling her back towards the park gates.

  Her mouth fell open again. “Oh.
Oh, gods. I forgot completely. My mother is going to kill me.” A wash of panic flooded through her.

  “No, she’ll yell, then forgive you, then she and your father are going to come looking for me and remove my hide in strips.” They’d finally reached a bus stop, and Maccis waited with her for the vehicle, watching the street around them casually, but with wolf-like alertness.

  “You don’t have to wait with me—”

  “Have to, no, want to, yes.” He grimaced, and ran his free hand over his hair. “It’s probably going to take me a little while to get over what I saw and smelled last night, Zee. I don’t think I could actually let you wait for the bus alone right now.” A pause. “I can go wolf, if it makes you more comfortable—”

  “Don’t you dare.” She squeezed his hand, tightly. “You and Eisa have to take care of the little ones in the afternoons lately, right?”

  “Eh, Vorvena comes home with laundry once a week. She’s full-time in the refugee camps and part-time at the university. Fyriacus enlisted. Enica’s part-time at the hospital and part-time at the university, too. So, yes, it’s me and Eisa while Aunt Lassair’s off helping people birth babies in the afternoons . . . but she’s only a shout away, most of the time. And Eisa can’t complain about me being late, considering how often I’ve covered for her lately.” Maccis’ tone was droll.